Bordeaux was a stark change for the column. Within moments of crossing the border, their banners had been sighted and they were enveloped by a larger column of men-at-arms in the Duke’s colours. It was a display of wealth that always took Edward by surprise. It was easy for him to forget that his Grandfather was a Prince of the highest echelons of nobility, regardless of his status as a bastard. Of the hundred mounted men who surrounded them, every single one was a belted knight, an unrivalled mesnie in the Kingdom of Arturia, even the King himself only supported a dozen belted knights as his own personal guard.

One of the knights rode forward and bowed deeply in his saddle, hand over his heart, to his liege lord.

“Your Grace, it is good to have you home.” The knight spoke warmly. Edward grinned as he recognised the man. He was an older knight, in his mid-forties with his hair greying at the temples, his harness was plain but polished to a bright shine and his eyes were like hard sapphires that cut the chill winter air.

“I have been too long from Bordeaux’s beauty Sir Lachlan, too long, I trust you may see us safely to the castle.” The Duke answered, equally as warmly. Tension, that Edward had not realised he was holding, flooded out of him as he realised they were safe.

“Lord Edward, I hardly recognised you, it seems so many years have passed since you waited on us at table.” Sir Lachlan continued, turning his sapphire gaze on the young knight.

“That’s Sir Edward now, my Grandson has won his spurs on the field at Siegesstand.” Duke Eric informed his Captain with a smile of pride, before giving the man a meaningful look. Sir Lachlan nodded in turn, taking the hint and turning his stallion.

“Plenty of time for chatter once we have you home Sir Edward, your Grace, I’ll be leading the van if you need me.” Sir Lachlan said before cantering off to the head of the column.

It was to be the only distraction in the ride to the city of Bordeaux for Sir Edward, after Sir Lachlan moved to the van, the rest of the ride passed in companionable silence.

Once inside the city, Edward was escorted to a suite of rooms in the castle, that was in reality more of a palace with defences added on. He enjoyed a rest for a moment, before penning a letter to Sir Davide, to inform him of everything that had happened, though he carefully avoided the subject of his impending nuptials. Once the letter was written he gave it to a servant to see it was sent with a caravan heading south, and from there he went hunting for his company, who had been billeted in the east wing barracks.

The men were settling into their new housing when Edward arrived, and the veterans were on their feet in an instant, bowing deeply at the waist to their noble captain. The new recruits were a heartbeat behind as they realised the new protocol. Sir Edward raised his hands and gestured for them to return to their places. His eyes searched the crowd for the faces he was looking for.

“Please messires, go about your business, I only came for Sir Gerald and Thomas Blackwood.” Sir Gerald came forward eagerly, at his heels came a less sure Thomas Blackwood. Thomas had been on Edward’s periphery for nearly two years now, and Edward had noted him as a capable lieutenant, as well as a fine lance. Just the sort of man a budding company would need as their marshal and standard bearer. Edward smiled reassuringly at them.

“Come with me companions, we have much to buy and I don’t know how long my grandfather intends for us to stay within these walls.” He turned on his heel and his chosen men followed.

In the inner streets of Bordeaux the markets are arranged in squares, and like clings to like. As such their first stop was the square of armourers, known to the locals as Anvil Square. Edward moved unerringly to one shop, it reminded him of Master Piotr’s, it was just as unadorned, but the man who owned it was reputed the best Master in the city, and certainly he was one of the Duchy’s Guildmasters, who oversaw nearly every armourer and cutler within its borders. Master Gabriel was tall and broad as most men of his profession were, and it seemed to Edward that he and Master Piotr could have been brothers in another life. He had none of Master Piotr’s easy charm and way with customers however, he was as gruff as a freshly woken goat. The old armourer glared at them over the counter as the young lord and his men entered.

“What do you want?” The surly smith asked as soon as the door closed. Edward sighed internally, time had not sweetened the man, since he had first commissioned him.

“Master Gabriel, I’ve come with a commission, I need new harness, all white steel for these two gentlemen, cap a pied, you understand, and I will be needing a new helm, bascinet, fine mail aventail and a klappvisor, I saw the style in Siegesstand and I quite like it.” The smith grunted in response before yelling for one of his apprentices who came through at a run with measuring materials and a pair of wax tablets.

“And how will you be paying for all this?” Master Gabriel inquired.

“Send the bill to my rooms in the palace, Sir Edward de Marche, Landgraf Schwarzberg.” The smith nodded in understanding, and didn’t speak another word to any of the men before taking their measurements and walking back through the curtain to the workshop. The boy he’d called through, approached them and bowed.

“We will call you in for a final fitting in a few days my lords.” He informed them before running to catch up to his master, likely eager to help.

Sir Gerald almost exploded when they were back safely on the cobbled square.

“I had half a mind to pull a sword on that man, how rude can a tradesman be to a noble?” He asked in disbelief.

“When they’re a Guildmaster who effectively controls the armour trade in Arturia, let alone just Bordeaux, they can pretty much be as rude as they like, come on, you’re getting swords next.”

And so it went, next they ordered matched sets of war sword, arming sword and rondel daggers from Master James the Cutler, and then they were among the tailors shops and Sir Edward had each outfitted with two arming cotes in black silk, with matching surcoats bearing the fleur de lys that would be the company arms, as well as a surcoat each of their own chosen arms, though these were made of wool rather than silk.

Each man was also outfitted with three sets of fine clothes including shirts, braes and hose, plus each received a plain brown gown for everyday wear. They had just finished at a glover when finally Thomas broke.

“My lord, why are you spending so much money on us?” The young man was almost shattered with worry. “I can’t afford to repay this and I don’t think a bank would loan me such riches, Sir Gerald I understand, he explained the Knight’s fee to me.” It was the opening Edward had been waiting for, and counting on.

“Quite right Thomas, would you please kneel?” Thomas did as he was told, and Edward drew his sword and knighted the man on the cobbles of Tailor’s Square. The crowd of shoppers all cheered as they saw the moment, for Bordeaux was a land of romance and chansons, and everyone loved a knighting ceremony.

“There, my new company needs a Marshal and I can think of no better man in my tail than you. Sir Thomas, will you help me lead these men to Seageld in support of my uncle the King, and in turn back to the war in Vallar to claim ransoms and prizes?” The new knight bowed his head.

“My lord, for you I would lead them through hell and out the other side.” The young man answered solemnly.

“That was well said!” A voice cut across the square. The man they saw was like a painting of a military saint. He was dressed in full harness, plain white steel and bore a surcoat in blue silk. His hair was blonde as spun gold and his eyes were like emeralds. He strode purposefully over to the men and bowed to Sir Edward.

“My lord, your man does you credit, and he does credit to chivalry itself with his words.” The newcomer declared to Edward, and Edward responded with a smile and bow.

“Ah monsieur, your words are too kind, it does me good to see a knight of my homeland speak so, I fear I have been too long among the mercenaries of the south.” The newcomer bowed deeply once more, this time a full reverentia on one knee.

“Forgive my eagerness my lord, I am Ser Guillaume D’Oze, I had come to seek service with the Duke, but I think the Worthies have guided me to this square, would you perhaps be interested in the services of a knight of no renown?” The man’s offer was too good to pass up and instantly his hands were between Edward’s.

“Ah Sir Guillaume, you are a blessing, my Company is in need of a knight to bear our colours on the field.” He chuckled. “How does a knight of no renown, as you say, come to own such a fine harness?”

“Ah my lord, it is a long story, but suffice to say that while I am of no renown, my uncle the Count of Gloix, is a man of much repute and despite my lowly birth he saw fit to have his nephew well equipped, though he wouldn’t have me in his own mesnie.” Edward nodded, knowing all too well how the nobility saw the act of employing distant relations.

“I know your uncle, a man of great heart and chivalry, come Ser Guillaume, join us at the palace, perhaps we can break a lance in the tiltyard and you can show me your worth.”

The afternoon was pleasantly cool, the first bite of true winter rarely touched Bordeaux until late in the season, and as such it was an idyllic land for training knights, and as such it was reputed to be the home of the kingdom’s finest, though many from far flung Maccullough would disagree. Sir Edward jousted with Ser Guillaume, and Sir Thomas and put them both in the sand several times, though he was delighted to see that Ser Guillaume was a fine lance, though maybe not as well practiced as Edward himself. He began the long process of teaching Sir Gerald the use of the lance, though he was resigned to the man favouring the bow over all other weapons.

“I expect you at the butts tomorrow, I want you to rouse any archer you can find in town and see if any are worth our time, almost three quarters of our lances lack an archer.” Sir Gerald grinned, though his sweat soaked coif tried to slide forward.

“Not a problem my lord, I’ll have them shooting before dawn, we’ll fill the company don’t you worry.” Edward nodded and turned to his other two knights.

“I want you gentlemen to return to the market tomorrow, we’ll need black wool for surcoats and I want you to see if any armourer will offer us a deal on coats of mail, if they can offer us a hundred shirts for less than five ducats a shirt you have my permission to send the bill to me, anything under ten and I’ll go discuss it personally.” They all bowed and returned to their work at the pells.

That night they were feasted by the Duke. Ser Guillaume was invited to sit by Sir Edward and shared in the meal while a hundred pages ran to and fro to serve every dignitary of the city plus the Duke’s family. Edward saw for the first time since his return home, all of his brothers and sisters. Sir Richard de Marche and his lady wife had been blessed by the worthies, or so it was said, with twelve children of which Edward was the fourth. Along with Sir Richard’s many children was a small horde of grandchildren.

Edward was handed baby after baby to hold and greet. His hands were competent and warm, it had not been so long since he had lived within these very walls and helped with the care of the numerous de Marche offspring. His eldest brother, Sir Richard II known to many as Diccon, joined him after the sixth course of the night, it consisted of venison and was the third game course. They turned their chairs to face the dance floor and hummed along to the group of musicians who played for the guests. Each held a glass of wine and grinned contentedly.

“Mother and Father have missed you a great deal Eddie, we all have, a lot has changed since you rode off with our uncle.” Diccon said, as he brought his cup to his lips for another satisfying gulp of the vallarese wine.

“I’ve missed you all too Diccon,” Sir Edward responded. “It’s not...it’s not what I imagined it would be like.” He managed before falling into silence again.

“I know what you mean, at least I had father around when I first fought, and even then I wasn’t steeped in the mire for years as you have been.” The older man’s frown deepened.

“You know, if you want to talk, I’m always here.” He reached out a hand and gripped his little brother’s shoulder firmly. “You can talk to any of us really, father said you ran into some trouble in Schwarzberg before you returned here.” and there it was, Edward thought. He’d tried not to let them know what he and his wolves had done in the woods during the siege, but word got to them, probably from the newest recruits of his company. Edward’s face closed and became stony in response.

“I don’t need to talk just now Diccon, thank you.” He knew his reply was terse and perhaps uncalled for, but his brother merely nodded and smiled in response. Diccon rose from his seat and inclined his head politely to his brother.

“I think I’ll go ask Mary for a dance, do yourself a favour brother, and find a lady to dance with tonight, no reason for a troubled mind and heart on a night like tonight.” He informed Edward with a mocking grin, and as if by magic, Edward felt his chest loosen and his shoulders relax, it was like when they were boys and his brother had never steered him wrong then.

Edward awoke late the following morning, and he was sure there were more than a few hard heads in the palace, as his own skull felt the worse for wine and there was a feminine form curled under his blankets, whose name he could not recall. The young knight relaxed back into his soft, down-stuffed pillows with a contented sigh. He knew he’d have to face the horrors he had committed at some point, but he also knew that for now his world was safe and, if he allowed, happy. He was home, he was with his family and he was about to embark on another great empris, things were good.

A polite knock on his door caused Edward’s eyes to open slowly once more. The voice of his brother came from beyond the oaken portal.

“Come join us for breakfast!” He called, and Edward rose with a sigh. It was time to face the day.

“On my way!” He called as he found his hose and began pointing them to his doublet.

The meal was plain but filling, a hot porridge mixed with honey and nuts. Edward sat back in his high backed chair and ate slowly on his second portion as his officers filed into the palace’s dining hall. Each was in their finest clothes, though for Sir Thomas that merely meant a clean cote, and appeared ill at ease. Edward raised a hand and gestured for them to join him at a table midway down the hall. He offered a smile as they approached.

“You’re not sitting at the high table lads, you need to relax.” He knew it was a weak sally, but he needed them to be calm to actually do their job. All three bowed to him before taking their seats.

“Which it is, my lord, why couldn’t we do this down in the barracks?” Sir Thomas asked boldly. He was beginning to understand that Sir Edward took perhaps a little less handling and light touches than most great lords, but that didn’t mean the notion comforted him overmuch.

“Because, you are officers of my company and need to get used to working closely with the upper nobility of Arturia, because I’m sure that’s where a lot of our contracts will be from.” He informed the low born knight before sweeping his gaze across Sir Gerald and Sir Guillaume.

“Now, I need reports, how’re we doing with recruitment, and our efforts to acquire mail?” He asked.

“Recruitment is going well, sir, I’ve brought in another fifteen good Arturian archers in the last two days, their kit is good and they shoot well, I’ve had another twenty who weren’t up to snuff who I brought on as pages.” Sir Gerald answered in a clipped tone, he’d been in the companies for years and knew how it worked.

“I’ve also brought in another ten men-at-arms, each has a passable harness with their own horse and a squire each. I’ve run them through some basic drills on the pell, but my lord I fear they may take some work.” Sir Guillaume reported in his luxurious Bordeaux accent. Edward nodded, the numbers were sound, though he was sure those would change as his new training regimens kicked in. Their company would not be a simple collection of armed thugs, they would be professional in every way.

“I will run an inspection this afternoon, I expect you can gather them all into the courtyard square messires?” Sir Edward asked, and was gratified to receive several nods. “I want them to present in harness, fully armed.” His officers nodded again, before turning to Sir Thomas.

“I do have some good news on the armour front my lord, it is a large order so I went to the Guild rather than a single shop, they’ve agreed to your price of ten ducats a shirt.” Edward winced, it was the highest price he was willing to pay and it was a steep one, a hundred shirts of good mail meant he was still getting a great deal. It was, however, still a thousand ducats. Edward’s wealth was great, but not infinite and he knew that the expense would raise eyebrows from the family accountant and bankers. Sir Thomas was still grinning however.

“Why do I get the feeling that’s not all Sir Thomas?” Edward asked with a raised eyebrow. Thomas’ grin broadened, something Edward had not thought possible.

“You weren’t aware Captain, but the first caravan from Schwarzberg arrived yesterday, carrying a load of iron ore from your mine, I spoke to the teamster in charge and arranged for it to be sold in bulk to the Armourer’s guild here, so in fact the mail is only five ducats per shirt, and beyond that the Guildmaster has agreed to throw in a hundred basinets with the mail as a gift to ensure your patronage and to consider allowing them to receive a regular shipment of your ore.” Edward’s own grin had grown to match his marshal’s.

“By the worthies, tell them to send me a contract, and to add on fifty brigandines to our order, a little extra won’t hurt to see our Company well armoured, also talk to the Tailor’s Guild, I want a few hundred yards of black wool, we’re going to run up some matching arming cotes for the lads, I’ll be damned if we aren’t the finest Company on parade by the time we return to the front, and we certainly will shine when we head to Seageld.”

They passed two weeks in Bordeaux, preparing for their ride to Seageld. Within those weeks their recruitment efforts expanded beyond Sir Edward’s initial plans. New armour was delivered to the palace daily and every new archer or page was given a shirt of mail and a black surcoat made of good wool. Once they were ready to depart the company had grown to eighty lances, almost three hundred and twenty men and women. Their harness was gleaming and well polished, their cotes well made and already Sir Edward and his officers had begun to drill them in the culture of training he had learned amongst Sir Felix’s company and in formations they would use in larger scale battles.

There were a few awkward sods among the early recruits, especially over the first few days of the training schedule. One such was Hamish McLochlan, a dangerous thug from McCullough. He was recruited as a man-at-arms and brought with him a good helm and a shabby coat of plates. He also brought a further three men-at-arms and several squires. Their harness was poor and rusted, but they had at first appeared quite competent in the practice of arms. Hamish, however, also had arrogance. His followers buoyed this confidence, even in the face of their new captain.

They had arrived late to the tiltyard, when drills were already well underway, and Sir Edward was working with his squires. As the slovenly group walked into the yard, the stench of unwashed men and stale whisky hit. The assault on Edward’s nostrils was enough to draw his ire, but they soon sat at the edge to observe and opened fresh bottles to continue their night’s work. Sir Edward raised a hand to his squires and approached, Sir Thomas joined him with a glance.

“Training began three hours ago, messires.” Sir Edward informed them in a deceptively calm voice. Hamish met his eyes without flinching.

“Did it now?” The belligerent drunk inquired with a sneer. “Well don’t let us keep you from it lad.” He continued, adding emphasis to the last word, leaving no doubt it was intended as an insult. Sir Edward sighed.

“If you wish to fight, you have only to ask.” He said. He struck following the last word, his lead foot slid forward and his back knee rocketed forward, collecting Hamish in the nose. Bone broke and crunched under the steel clad knee. Blood surged in a crimson wave down the large man’s front. Before he could rise, Edward had planted his knee on the man’s chest and his dagger was in his hand, hovering over Hamish’s throat.

“In this company, you address me as my lord, or captain. Secondly, you attend the tiltyard every morning while in garrison unless you are infirm or on the watch bill. Thirdly, you gentlemen can pack your belongings and leave, this company has no place for amateurs.” With a last heave on the knee, making the man’s ribs flex painfully, Edward rose and turned his back, intent on returning to his training. Hamish spat, blood as he rose to his feet with a groan. Hate burned in his eyes as he drew his sword and ran at Edward’s back.

“My lord!” Kaspar shouted. It had been all the warning Sir Edward required. He pivoted on his heel and drove his dagger, still in his hand, through Hamish’s eye. The large man from the hills, fell dead at Edward’s feet. The young knight turned to his second squire with a raised brow.

“Thank you for the warning Kaspar.” He nodded and walked off, still digesting the development of his newest squire, while Sir Thomas and Sir Guillaume removed Hamish’s cronies from the tiltyard with hands on swords and a deadly glare. Cuthbert cheered as he threw an arm around Kaspar.

“You saved his life!” He cheered, “That’s bound to get you onto proper squire duties.” Cuthbert’s grin was impossibly wide.

“I didn’t save anything, he was waiting for that attack,” Kaspar muttered as he frowned. “He never resheathed his dagger.” The squires returned to training but in a much more somber mood than before. Though Kaspar noticed that Sir Edward took time to observe his own sparring along with Cuthbert’s.

The Company in full array outside the gates of Bordeaux, was a sight to behold. Their steel polished and their wool brushed. They shone like warrior saints of legend, or knights of romance. At least that is what Edward told himself as he viewed them from a slight rise beside the road on his tall riding horse. Duke Eric sat beside him along with his officer staff.

“They look very fine my lord.” Sir Thomas said, his voice seeming to bring his captain’s thoughts into the open.

“They do indeed, you’ve all done splendidly.” Duke Eric informed them. “I have no doubt we shall reach the capital unharmed with you as our escort.” He nodded once and rode back towards the civilian portion of the column. Edward smiled at the praise before looking over his men again.

“We’re going to need horses, the men-at-arms are all mounted but most only have the one horse, and half our archers are on foot, add to that none of the pages have their own and it’s a nightmare.” He mused mostly to himself. It was Sir Guillaume who answered.

“These are things we can solve at the capital my lord, the horse markets will be in fine form with the tournament about to take place, and I’m sure we can perhaps win a few horses while we’re there?” He asked with a roguish grin. Edward grinned back.

“Well it has certainly been a long time since I got to fight in a tournament, it should be a nice change.” He clucked his tongue and pressed his heels gently to the palfrey’s flanks.

“Thomas, see to the order of march, Guillaume raise the standard, Gerald get some prickers out front and on our flanks.” He ordered crisply before pulling into the lead of the column, with Guillaume by his side and their glossy black standard rising high into the air.